


A New Day

by artemisaro



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 21:44:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemisaro/pseuds/artemisaro
Summary: Grantaire is haunted by dreams every June 5th. Enjolras is obsessed with the idea of the June Rebellion of 1832. The two must make a decision to move on from the past and discover their own future, regardless of what happened before.





	A New Day

June 6th was never going to be easy. Grantaire learned that a long time ago, though he had never quite figured out why. Every year his heart would ache like someone had shot him in the chest. Every year his depression would consume him and he would hide away where the rest of the world couldn’t find him.

It had started when he was an infant. His parents hadn’t known what to do when their baby boy cried endlessly for the entire day, but it hadn’t been that bad until he hit high school. That was when the dreams started coming. At first they were only small flashes; a golden haired man, cannon fire, gunshots, pain. Always on the night of June 5th, but the fearful feeling remained until the end of June 6th.

As soon as Grantaire turned 18, he started drinking with the hopes that the dreams would go away. That he would stop waking up with the horrible burning sensation centered around the birthmarks scattered over his chest. They only seemed to get clearer, the short flashes lengthening into an entire scene.

“Permets-tu?” his dream self would always ask, and the golden haired man would smile and reach a hand out to him. He always woke just as his body exploded into searing pain.

That was the primary reason Grantaire had started to avoid blond men. There had been the barista that had asked him out after he ordered the same coffee three months in a row. He’d found a new coffee shop after that.

 Or, more recently, the girl who sat across from him in his painting class who had apparently flirted with him for almost a year before finally outright giving him her number. At least Bossuet had told him the girl was flirting. Grantaire had just thought Cosette was being nice, which Eponine had backed up. Grantaire trusted Eponine when it came to girls, but she was just as useless as he was when it came to guys.

Which was why the man in his polisci class was such an enigma. Grantaire had warned himself countless times to stay away from that man, with his golden halo of curls, but that was easier said than done. Enjolras was everything Grantaire was not. Optimistic. Idealistic. Passionate. Ambitious. Sober. It didn’t help that he shared a face with dream-man. It was probably because dream-man had only shown his face after Grantaire had met Enjolras when he moved to Paris for university when he was nineteen. Enjolras was eerily similar to the dream man – he seemed to carry himself the same way; with the same pride and hope and belief that he could change the world.

It was no coincidence that Enjolras hated Grantaire. He’d tried to get Grantaire to join his cause, but Grantaire had shot him down with cynicism and the realistic details Enjolras and his friends had either missed or ignored altogether.

It _was_ , however, coincidence that the meeting Grantaire had reluctantly agreed to go to was on June 6th. Which meant he couldn’t get away with drinking the night before.

\---

Enjolras wanted to make a difference. It was the one thing he knew for sure about his life – he was going to make France into the country it had the potential to be. His conservative parents far from agreed with his views, but he’d left them far behind when, at 17, he left home to attend university in Paris.

He’d done a great deal of research about the history of France’s many revolutions. He knew there were a great many more that had failed than had succeeded, but he found there was far more to learn from the failures than there was from the great successes.

A particular favorite of Enjolras’ was the June Rebellion of 1832. It was supposed to succeed. They had enough support in a time of turmoil, but all of that support had just disappeared by morning of the second day. Most wrote it off as the government being too prepared or the people not being prepared enough, but many of the fighters had been experienced. Many had participated in les Trois Glorieuses just two years before. They knew how a revolution worked.

Anyone who was even slightly close to Enjolras had heard is ranting about the June Rebellion. It called to him, like it was his destiny to figure out why it hadn’t succeeded and to redeem those young men by changing France like they had tried to do. If he’d had anyone else as friends, they likely would have left after claiming Enjolras’ fascination as obsessive or unhealthy, but not Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

Every year, he scheduled a meeting of Les Amis de L’ABC on June 6th, and a sort of private celebration the night before. It wasn’t like many people knew about the date unless they were part of Les Amis, but it was always a wonderful opportunity to inform people of the cause and get invite them to a meeting after just a short history lesson.

That was how Grantaire was invited. At first Enjolras had been strongly against it, but if he really thought about it they needed Grantaire. His cynical arguments were surprisingly insightful and had helped Enjolras fix many a hole in his plans for meeting and rallies. Grantaire was smarter than he gave himself credit for.

This year, however, Enjolras wanted to make the meeting something special. They had spent so long talking about how they wanted to make the world better, about how they were going to make France more accepting, but they’d done very little.

“June 6th is right in the middle of pride month,” Enjolras had suggested to Combeferre and Courfeyrac the night Courfeyrac joined them in their dorm to plan out the meeting.

“We could do something about spreading awareness of LGBT rights, or we could stage a pride march of our own, if we were able to organize that,” Courfeyrac had agreed with enthusiasm.

Combeferre hadn’t even needed to say anything. Enjolras could tell by the subtle yet proud smile he made no attempt to hide that he was in.

\---

Combeferre knew there was something off about June 5th and 6th, and it wasn’t just because of the June Rebellion Enjolras spoke so passionately of. It was a date of lost hope, and he knew that feeling affected more than him. Joly always had a cold starting on the 4th. Courfeyrac grew slightly less cheerful and more melancholy. Bahorel was more subdued, Feuilly more determined, Bossuet never cracked as many jokes, and Jehan’s grew silent as he read his poetry, his book cracked open to the same well-worn page. Only Enjolras didn’t seem to notice, but his fervor became greater, his passion bordering on desperate.

It all seemed a mystery to Combeferre; why his friends were all so affected by a single day that didn’t touch the rest of the world.

“Get this,” Enjolras murmured, breathless with excitement as he propped open his laptop on the night of June 4th. Combeferre sat cautiously down next to him. “I found a list of the known dead from the June Rebellion, and it’s too weird to be coincidental.”

He scooted aside to give Combeferre a look.

In bold font, a list of names was printed out. At first, he didn’t see anything unusual about it until he got about halfway down the page when he noticed _Antoine Enjolras,_ then _Frederic Combeferre,_ and as he continued looking down the page he recognized almost all of the names. Not the first names, though some of those were the same, but the last.

“You might not recognize Adrien Grantaire, but there’s someone named Grantaire in my polisci class. He’s insufferable,” Enjolras muttered.

“There was an unknown boy found. Christ, Enjolras. There was a ten year old there with… with these people.”

“And another young girl who is believed to be Eponine Thenardier, but it’s unconfirmed. ‘Ferre, do you know what this means?”

“What what means?” Courfeyrac’s head popped out from behind the bathroom door, his usually springy curls weighted down by water.

“Come in here,” Enjolras beckoned before Combeferre could stop him. Combeferre wanted to believe this was all a coincidence, but it wasn’t. The logical part of him told him that some distant relative had fought in this battle, but it was more than coincidence that they had all come together to form the very same group of people that died centuries ago.

“What if,” Courfeyrac was smiling, his eyebrows raised in the way they were when he was about to say something simultaneously impressive and terrifying. Usually it was a fanciful idea for a prank, but sometimes it was something deeper and usually more than just a theory.

“What if,” Courfeyrac continued, “We were sent here to carry out what these men failed to do? It’s gotta be a sign of something. ‘Ferre, c’mon, this is some sort of miracle. We’re being given a chance to fix what went wrong all those years ago.”

“The others have to know. I invited Grantaire to the meeting in two days against my better judgment, but it seems I made the correct decision.” Enjolras stood up. “I have to go. I told Cosette I’d meet her after school and make sure her date isn’t a creep. I’ll be back.”

Combeferre watched as his roommate and best friend left, then took a seat on the couch. “You might as well stay,” he told Courfeyrac, knowing the conversation wouldn’t be over until they all decided exactly what it meant.

\---

“Your June 6th thing is weird,” Gavroche commented, staring up at the ceiling. Grantaire couldn’t agree more.

“Be nice,” Eponine scolded lightly, but it was obvious she was at least partially joking.

“You’re not nice!”

“I’m older and R and I have been friends since before you could talk.”

“Yeah, well R and _I_ have been friends since I was born, isn’t that right R?”

“Sure, kid.” Gavroche always made Grantaire smile. Sometimes he was a bit of an ass, but then again, so was Grantaire.

“So, are you going to go?” Eponine questioned, referring to the meeting Enjolras had invited Grantaire to.

“Probably. I’ve got nothing better to do, and maybe he knows something about… never mind. Probably not.”

“I think you should go.”

“Why don’t you go?” Grantaire asked roughly.

“Marius Pontmercy is going to be there.” It was a low blow, and they both knew it, but Eponine’s cheeks were reddening.

“You fucker,” she muttered under her breath, then sighed. “Fine. We’ll both go and you can argue with your golden boy or whatever.”

“Thanks, Ep. I owe you one.”

“Hell yeah you do.”

 There was a long, silent pause, the anxiety in Grantaire’s chest calming to a hum.

“You don’t feel anything weird about June 6th, do you?” It was a long shot, but Grantaire could tell by the way Eponine tensed beside him that he’d hit on something.

“I’ve got a reason for it,” Eponine snapped, scooting away from Grantaire.

_Fuck._ Grantaire didn’t know what had happened but he knew he’d done something.

“I uh… I better go, then. See you on June 6th.”

“See you then.”

Grantaire turned to leave, then heard Eponine’s voice, smaller than normal, just behind him.

“You could come by tomorrow night, if you wanted. I need help with Gavroche and you… well you need help not to drink, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll stop by.”

Grantaire was immensely grateful that classes had finished up on the 2nd. He didn’t have to face Enjolras or anyone else, and he had already probably failed all his finals, so there was nothing he needed to do as he headed back to the flat his parents reluctantly paid for. He knew he was supposed to find a roommate soon, but Joly and Bossuet were already rooming together, and he hadn’t really made any other friends over the course of the year.

The one thing about his flat was that it was lonely. Normally he was alright with being alone, but not knowing that tomorrow the dreams would start and then he’d still have to do something the next day. Not looking at the beer bottles in his fridge that he could easily open and drink.

Maybe that was why he’d agreed to come to the stupid meeting. When he’d told Joly and Bossuet, they were ecstatic that he was coming – maybe he thought it would be a good way to get out of being alone, for once.

\---

June 5th. The day Enjolras had been planning for the past several months, then the rally the next day – a sort of addition to the many pride events happening around the city. They were lucky, in France. The acceptance of LGBT+ rights was more widespread in France than almost anywhere else, but there was still a long way to go until equality was reached. Enjolras figured that was as good a place to start as any.

“Friends,” he announced, greeting those he had invited to the Musain that night for a celebration of sorts. “I have something important to share with you all, though it might be difficult to take in at first.” He glanced down at Combeferre, who gave him a nod of encouragement.

“You all know of the fight that began this day in 1832.”

“Only because you’ve talked about it so much,” Joly teased lightheartedly. Enjolras shook his head in mock frustration.

“What you don’t know is that its legacy lives with us. June 6th was a significant day because it signaled the failure of a revolution that should have succeeded. It was a day of death after a day of hope and certainty and belief.” Enjolras stepped on the table, in part because he was shorter than almost anyone else, but also to showcase the projector he had set up in the back of the room.

“These are the names of those who died over the course of those two days, and you’ll notice there’s no coincidence that we share those names. I’m sure many of you feel the same fire I do when thinking about the future of France, but here is the proof that we were _meant_ to make a difference to France. These men fought to overthrow Louis-Philippe, now it’s our turn!”

“To overthrow Macron even though he was just elected and his policies are some of the best in the world at the moment? If that’s what you’re all here to do, you’re more foolish than I thought.” Nobody had noticed Grantaire sneak in. He hadn’t even been invited to this part of the meeting, but here he was, cynical and sarcastic and looking incredibly self-important.

Enjolras didn’t dignify Grantaire with an answer.

“Because of this,” he continued on, his voice louder, with a trace of annoyance. “We have organized a pride march outside the Musain tomorrow, following our usual meeting.”

“Meet in the Musain at 09:30 wearing the pride colors of your choice, if you feel safe doing so. If not, there will be more subtle pride items available,” Combeferre chimed in from where he was sitting.

The rest of the planning and discussing was finished within fifteen or so minutes, then the discussion devolved into smaller conversations among friends.

\---

Grantaire hadn’t meant to crash Enjolras’ meeting, but it had happened anyway. He and Eponine had snuck out of her parents’ house when Gavroche had fallen asleep (so they thought), and Eponine had wanted to meet Marius Pontmercy somewhere and make it seem like an accident.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Enjolras’ voice sounded behind Grantaire, shocking him into turning around.

“Am I not allowed to go to the Musain with my friend when I want to?”

Enjolras groaned, obviously exasperated. He shook his head, his golden curls bouncing in a way that made Grantaire’s heart race, his blue eyes holding something stormy but not quite angry.

“Look, it was a coincidence that you’re here and Eponine dragged me here as well. I’ll just go get a drink and get out of your hair.”

“Wait.” Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s wrist as he turned to leave. “I won’t have you hung over for tomorrow’s meeting, or for the pride march.”

“You… still want me to come?”

“Yes.” The word sounded more like a question than a definite answer. “It seems even if I didn’t want you there, you’re destined to be there anyway.” Grantaire wasn’t certain if he was supposed to hear that part or not, but he decided to ignore it.

“Then I’ll be there.” Grantaire turned to leave again, but caught himself. “Eponine’s little brother might want to come as well. We’ll watch him so he doesn’t get in any trouble but… you should probably know that.”

Grantaire didn’t really want to leave, but he couldn’t help but feel he’d overstayed his welcome. He knew it was shitty to leave Eponine alone, but she was busy with Marius, and if she really had a problem with him leaving she would have said something.

The dreams came back full force that night. The man was unmistakably Enjolras, though the faces of the dead were clear for the first time as well. Grantaire shuddered at the idea that maybe Enjolras and the others had been right. This was no coincidence. Joly and Bossuet lay together, as did the rest of the men who had been at the meeting the night before. Grantaire didn’t believe in fate, but this posed a pretty convincing argument.

This time, he was allowed to walk around the barricade, taking in each familiar face smeared with blood, each unmoving body that had been slain fighting for what they believed in. What did Grantaire have in common with the rest of these people? From what he’d seen, they were all optimistic and idealistic and confident that they could change the world. Grantaire was nothing like that. What place did he have with people that burned so bright but were snuffed out so easily?

It took Grantaire a while to find his way up the stairs to where he knew Enjolras lay waiting, surrounded by guards who were more than prepared to shoot him on the spot. Every time, Grantaire would interrupt them, his voice raw as he shouted, “I am one of them!” and took his place beside Enjolras. Then the smoke and the searing pain and the waking up like nothing had happened.

Grantaire didn’t know if the past was going to repeat itself, but he wouldn’t let it. He had seen so much shit in the world that spending time, even a brief meeting, with Les Amis was refreshing and invigorating because they _believed_ in a future that was different than the present they were living in.

He hadn’t made up his mind about whether to go to the pride march or not the night before, but his heart sunk when he took in the time on the clock: 10:00. The meeting had started half an hour ago, and god knew when they were leaving the Musain.

It didn’t take long for Grantaire to throw on the bi scarf Eponine had knitted for him last winter, regardless of the summer heat, or grab the small trans flag he kept in his drawer for whenever he needed validation. He’d gotten it the first and only time he’d attended pride, before his father had found out and practically disowned him.

_“I raised a_ girl _,” he had said, looking at Grantaire with disgust. “If you think you can throw that away, you no longer have a place in our home.”_

Grantaire pushed the memories away and raised out of his apartment as quickly as he could.

\---

Combeferre had warned Enjolras that Grantaire might not be coming after they had postponed the meeting by fifteen minutes to wait for him. Eponine and her little brother, Gavroche, had already arrived. Eponine had promised that Grantaire was coming, but Enjolras was losing faith.

Eventually, Enjolras had to start the meeting, with or without Grantaire. It was fairly similar to the conversation from the night before, but more about logistics and pride and making a stand against those who didn’t believe they had the right to be there. Less about their destiny and the past.

“We are all here for a reason,” he was saying, his eyes constantly shifting to the door as though Grantaire would magically appear. “I don’t know if that reason is supernatural or something else entirely, but we might as well take advantage of it. We can prove to the world that we can change it, that we have the power to shape France – to shape the world – into something amazing. Our ancestors fought to get us where we are, and it’s our responsibility to take the next steps towards-” a flicker at the door, a blue, pink, and purple scarf trailing behind a man with dark curls and dark circles under his eyes.

“Equality?” Grantaire suggested, a thin smile spreading over his face.

“Equality,” Enjolras echoed, stepping down from the table. “Now let’s show Paris who we are!”

That was met with a chorus of cheers as all 14 of them in the room flooded into the street, a myriad of colors and flags and shouts of joy.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac were holding hands, Combeferre waving his rainbow flag and Courfeyrac waving his pink, yellow, and blue one. Musichetta and Bossuet had Joly on their shoulders, all proudly displaying different pieces of their identities. Eponine and Cosette walked out hand in hand with Gavroche tagging behind, though Enjolras didn’t think his sister had even known Eponine before today. He could have been wrong about that; there had been 17 years of his life where he hadn’t even known he had a sister. Feuilly and Bahorel were playfully shoving each other, both beaming. Jehan waved a purple, yellow, white, and black flag, each color reflected in a different article of clothing to create a mishmash of color that was surely a crime against fashion. Marius, probably the only straight one of the bunch, followed the rest, unabashedly waving a rainbow flag.

A feeling of euphoria settled over Enjolras. He’d done this. His friends, bursting with pride and happiness, were here, and safe, and it felt good. It felt really good.

“Do you permit it?” The soft voice came from behind Enjolras. Grantaire, looking small and insignificant, yet somehow simultaneously radiant, was holding out his hand.

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile as he took Grantaire’s hand and pulled him into a kiss, his trans flag streaming behind them with the breeze.

\---

Maybe Enjolras was right. Maybe it was destiny that pulled them together, that made all of this possible. All Grantaire knew was that he would stand by him for as long as he could. He wouldn’t come in last minute to die, like he’d done before.

He had spent too long being haunted by the past. It was time to move forward. And maybe, just maybe, he’d have a part in changing the world. But that was a long way of. Now, there were Les Amis and meetings and Enjolras. God, Enjolras. Grantaire could get used to this. He wouldn’t worry about June 6th any longer.


End file.
